


Legacies

by write_light



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover (SuperWolf), Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Superwolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6634987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_light/pseuds/write_light
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did you know the Men of Letters once called the Hales their allies? Neither did the Winchesters. Unfortunate events ensue when the brothers meet a formerly possessed kid who is definitely not a witch, and the last of the Hale werewolves still guarding Beacon Hills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legacies

**Author's Note:**

> A crossover of my ships and fandoms. For tina-hale@tumblr, who requested it as my 500th follower. :-D THIS ESCALATED QUICKLY is all I can say. Minor gun violence (because Dean).

 

_Teaser:_

"Who are they?" Derek whispered.

"How should I know?"

"They don't look evil."

"That car does."

 

\-----

 

"Sam. … Sammy. SAM! Get your nose of that book for one damn minute."

"Huh?" Sam looked up, confused, saw Dean holding what he feared was dinner.

"Takeout. Chinese. Hottest cashier in a fifty-mile radius."

"Hm."

"'Hm'?" Dean asked, unimpressed. He expected at least the smirk, or a comment like last week's, about dying of heart disease, or the week before that when Sam had asked if he wasn't spending 'too much time with his magazines'.

"You're not going to believe this," Sam said, marking the spot on the page with his finger.

"I'm going to put this food in front of you - with chopsticks in it. I am not going to feed you."

"Dean-"

"What's got you so enchanted you can't even eat dinner with your big brother?"

"It's – I can eat," Sam added, riled. "We'll both die of high blood pressure and won't that be an ironic end."

Dean grinned.

"The Men of Letters had an alliance," Sam went on, leaving the white carton to congeal while Dean put his chopsticks to use as a shovel.

"So?" Dean said around a mouthful of kung pao.

"With werewolves."

Dean stared at him, trying to make sense of that.

"One place came up again and again – Beacon Hills."

"Sounds like soccer moms and overzealous sheriffs."

"It's in California," Sam added.

"So I was right."

"An alliance, Dean. It goes back decades. Always the same family." He looked at the page again. "The Hales."

"Like Alan Hale? The Skipper?"

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean's grin faded.

"So we gave Garth a second chance. Maybe the Men of Letters had good reason to work with them."

"There aren't many Hales left. A fire wiped them out a few years ago. _A mysterious fire_."

Dean put down his food, no longer hungry. He sighed.

"I'll go gas up the car," he said. "You eat something. We are _not_ stopping ten minutes out of town for salad."

***

Stiles was knee-deep in a cloud of slowly-settling mountain ash, trying desperately to look cool as he threw one badly-cast protection circle after another around himself. Derek had banished him from the entire block, not just from the loft, after he walked smack into a particularly well-done spell and woke up with a headache. Not even Stiles' wide grin, in fact _especially not that_ , had made him feel any better about 'this magic stuff,' as he called it.

Today, though, Stiles was fizzling. He ended up more than once with a handful of mountain ash powder raining down on him, into his hair, eyes, ears, down his collar even, where it was worse than itching powder. He was rubbing his back against the pole by the dryer in his basement when it happened.

His fingers tingled, something he'd learned to trust, and as he turned left, then right, he could sense it, far off, near the woods at the edge of town, something dark approaching from the east. His spell was holding, but it was giving off waves of energy.

"HA HA! It WORKED! DAD, IT WORKED! CALL DEREK!" Stiles yelled up the stairs.

"What, son?"

"Call Derek! My hands are buzzing."

The Sheriff, reading the Sunday paper at the kitchen table, closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his brow and made small circles, willing his headache to vanish. It hadn't worked in three years, but he had to try.

***

On the outskirts of Beacon Hills, Dean was taking the long, slow way into town, backroads since Red Bluff. The car's motor sputtered and coughed.

"No, no no…Come on, I just fixed you."

"Maybe that's the problem," Sam muttered, still half asleep against the window on his side.

Dean glared at him.

The Impala died with a weak, high whimper, not a rumble, just as they crossed the town line. It coasted to a slow stop and refused to start again.

Dean was out and under the hood in a flash, all careful hands and soft words. Sam got out, stretched and smelled the fresh air among the trees. He looked around, first at the Welcome to Beacon Hills sign, and then at the dark line in the asphalt.

"Doesn't it seem a little odd that she gave up _just_ as we got to town, Dean?"

Dean's head popped out around the hood, angry now.

"Werewolves, and now witches? What, do they have hex bags buried in the road?"

"I'm just sayin'… If there were people here that hunters would work with, it makes sense they'd know a trick or two."

***

Stiles allowed Derek to drive his jeep. This was new for both of them, but Stiles needed his hands for his magic, such as it was.

"What kind of protection spell are you using?" Derek asked, concern in every word.

"The first one I learned. The easy one. I didn’t think it would work, you know."

"You're sure it _is_ working?"

"It's like an alarm ringing."

"In your hands."

"Well, the spell wasn't clear about that, big guy, but yes, as it turns out."

"This could be dangerous."

"I know I can get the mountain ash thing to work."

"That won't protect _me,_ " Derek reminded him.

"STOP!" Stiles yelled. "Stop. It's right down there."

He leaped from the jeep and looked far down the steep embankment to where the road looped back and out of town. Two men stood by an ominous black car.

"Who are they?" Derek whispered.

"How should I know?"

"They don't look evil."

"That car does."

***

"Two. A tall frowning one with eyebrows, and a kid, maybe 18," Dean muttered, using the side mirror.

"I made 'em," Sam answered, trying as hard as he could to look like a tired tourist in need of a good stretch and a tree to pee on.

"Phone's dead too, Sam," Dean said calmly and quietly as he looked at it. "The hell are you doin' yoga now for?"

"Getting a look at them, and-"

Sam fell silent and Dean looked over at him instantly. He was staring up the hill at the two men by the jeep.

"Dude, that's Derek Hale," Sam whispered. "His whole family died in the fire."

Dean looked up at them, then froze.

***

"They know who I am," Derek said, as calmly as he could. "And..."

Stiles watched their lips moving, wishing he had wolf-hearing. He waved automatically then regretted it.  "And what?"

"They think I might be a demon."

"The bowlegged one or the hair model?" Stiles asked.

"The one whose heart rate just doubled.  Look out-!"

A gunshot whistled past them and Derek shoved Stiles down to the ground as a second crack echoed across the shadowed hillside.

***

"DEAN! What are you doing?!"

"DEMON, Sam. The kid, not the werewolf."

"What are you talking about?"

"I can see it. I saw it. I saw something."

"Dean you can't shoot a kid because you think you saw _something_."

"They're coming down here."

"Because you shot at them!" Sam yelled, ducking behind the car as the jeep roared down the road, briefly out of sight but closing on them fast.

***

Stiles drove with one hand and his knees, his right hand tingling as he willed himself to have more power, to know what healing felt like, to save the man who finally trusted him. Derek's blood spilled through his fingers onto the seat and they took the hairpin curve way too fast.

The jeep skidded off the road behind the Impala. Sam and Dean crouched out of sight at the front, Dean with his gun ready, Sam with his knife, just in case.

Stiles slid from the jeep and went straight for Dean. Dean was braced, aiming, but then he flew back into the weeds.

"Dean!" Sam yelled.

"God damn it," Stiles yelled, grimacing as he shook the pain from his hands. He tried again and Dean stumbled back, enough to lose his just-regained footing and fall.

Stiles looked back at Derek in the jeep, then grinned. He held Sam immobile with just a wave of his left hand, and they both watched Derek shifting. Sam's eyes widened.

"Yeah, didn't expect that, did you?" Stiles said, cocky.

A large black wolf sprang from his jeep, jumped to the trunk then the roof of the Impala, and skidded onto the hood, snarling at Sam, who couldn't move a muscle.

"If you scratch my car, so help me-" Dean said, and Stiles, distracted, let Sam slip as he turned on Dean again. His head was swimming from so much magic, but he could clearly see Dean coming at him.

Sam did the only thing that made sense to him – he used words.

"Your mother was Talia Hale. Our grandfather knew her."

He said it right into Derek's glowing blue eyes, and Derek shifted back, jumping gracefully off the hood to approach Sam. His face was different now, intensely curious, softer.

Stiles was well off-kilter now, largely from too much magic, partly from Derek standing nude before him. Dean punched Stiles hard across the jaw and he stumbled up against Derek's warm body.

"Tell me you didn't see his face change, Sam!" Dean roared.

"He's not a demon; you're seeing what the demon left behind," Derek said calmly, his eyes moving from Sam to Dean, who averted his from Derek's exposed physique.

"What?" Stiles protested.  "Nothing left. Bad memories is all."

"It's never _all_ gone. It woke your power," Derek said quietly to him, watching Dean but holding Stiles with a protective arm now.

"Well, Deaton says my power is what attracted it in the first place-"

Derek turned back to Sam, holding Stiles face-first against his chest and asked, "How do you know me?"

"I’m Sam Winchester. This is my brother, Dean."

Derek looked at them both as Stiles wriggled; Derek held him firmly in place.

"Men of Letters." Derek's wide eyes no longer glowed blue.

"Legacies. Sort of like you, I guess," Dean offered. "So you were possessed and now you can do magic?" Dean continued, addressing Stiles and trying not to sound envious.

"I'm not possessed. I'm-" Stiles said, twisting his face free of Derek's chest.

"Shut up, Stiles."

"Stiles?" Dean smirked.

"Listen, you plaid catastrophe, I'm going to rip your-"

"Stiles!" Derek said, his voice deeper.

"Everybody! _Calm. Down._ " Sam pleaded, lowering Dean's gun with his fingertips. "The alliance, Dean. Henry signed that paper with his mother."

"I know that name – Winchester. My mother told us how dangerous most hunters were, but some of the packs still made agreements with the better ones. It was the emissaries's job; some even said it was their idea."

"How the hell old are you? You look - 25?" Dean blurted out.

"Yeah, Derek. How old are you?" Stiles turned back to look at Derek, still held by a powerful arm.

Derek's lips tightened.

"OH! I know that look," Dean chuckled. "Sam's just as annoying."

Sam turned his glare on Dean, and the grin faded again.

Dean quickly changed the subject. "You need to put some clothes on, Wolfman."

***

Derek and Dean walked around to the back of the Impala.  Sam watched Stiles staring at Derek, as naked as every time he'd shifted.  He knew the look, one he tried to keep under control in himself.

"What's your magic?" Sam asked.

"I don’t know," Stiles said, still staring at Derek. "We just clicked. Hated him at first, but now we're living together- you- OH you were asking about _this_." He wiggled his fingers and blushed furiously. "Right. Not that other magic."

Sam could see the vibrating aura around Stiles' hands intensify.

"Druids." Stiles was terse, hoping not to spill any more secrets. He took a quick last look in Derek's direction.

"Druids?" Sam repeated, not sure he'd heard right.

"Druids. Ancient –

"Ancient nature magic, drawn from the living world to balance light and dark. Do you have a Nemeton?"

"Oooh, that is – you do not want to get near that thing. Kudos on the geek-level knowledge of druids, though. It's a little Wikipedia-heavy, but still good."

Sam was offended and impressed at the same time.

"Dean was... possessed," he said quickly and quietly and a weight seemed to lift from him. "You should talk to him about it."

"No offense, but he looks like the kind of guy who punches guys who 'talk about things'."

Sam smiled a tight half-grimace. "Yeah. You have a defender, though."

"Well, your brother's talking to the right person if he doesn’t want to talk about anything," Stiles said, looking back to see Derek with a beer in his hand, borrowed jeans that fit _very_ well, and topping it all off, a plaid shirt.

Stiles doubled over with laughter.

"Gave him one of yours, Sammy. Least I could do after shooting the guy. Accident, you know."

Sam nodded with exasperation.

"Stiles! Would you?" Derek asked, tilting his head at the car.

"Oh, sorry. Right." Stiles looked toward the side of the road, stretching out his hand as if feeling for something. He gripped air and twisted.

The Impala rumbled and roared back to life.

***

Sam and Dean followed the Jeep back to Derek's loft, where Sam and Derek got into a long discussion about what kind of alliance was still possible. At one point, Derek's eyes and mouth were frozen open, something Sam had grown used to when he told people about their life.

"Sam's telling him how we died," Dean said, noticing Stiles' concern.

"Yeah, we died too. Scott and Allison and I."

Dean took a fresh look at the kid in front of him. "You're-"

"A kid, I know," Stiles said. "Allison was a hunter. Werewolf specialist, not like you guys. She never made it out of high school."

"Sam, let's find a place to stay. Spend a couple days here. We have a lot to talk about."

Sam nodded.

"What's law enforcement like in this town?" Dean asked.

"My dad."

Dean's eyes narrowed.

"I like this kid."

***

END

 

 


End file.
